


he'd never sing of love that does not exist

by switmikan74



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Kenma, College AU, Happy Ending, Kenma is honest somewhat, Kuroo is bad at feelings, Light Angst, M/M, fuckboy kuroo, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:55:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24402400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/switmikan74/pseuds/switmikan74
Summary: If they'll be asked what they were expecting after fucking, it was not finding solace in each other's company.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei (past) - Relationship
Comments: 16
Kudos: 219





	he'd never sing of love that does not exist

**Author's Note:**

> Where Kuroo never believes in love and Kenma is wrought in anxiety. People believe they’re nothing short of disaster.

* * *

Kuroo is the classic definition of a fuckboy. He is well-known around the campus for all the wrong reasons; a name notched on bedposts like a household god, a wily cat in heat. Kuroo preens at the sneers he would get from the boyfriends or girlfriends who got cheated on because of him. He admits, he has a penchant for ruining things.

He loves the thrill of it. He loves the pleasure it came with it, the moans of his name from lips that shouldn’t, the hazy guilt awash by the heady desire, the squelching sounds like a contrite music to his grinning ears, the excuses they have to make once it’s all over, and the _pleading_. God, the _pleading_ makes the game so much sweeter. He likes watching them beg him not to tell. He doesn’t even _need_ to. Their walk of shame from whatever room they were at back to whoever is waiting for them alerts the whole world.

Honestly, what the fuck is all the hype for committed relationships when it takes him no more than an hour to break their ‘faithfulness’?

But, unlike what the whole world likes to believe, he doesn’t ruin relationships every single day of his ‘miserable life’ because sometimes he gets involve with hopeful singles too.

He loves sliding into an empty seat beside an awkward little thing, smoothly involving them with his chatter while offering his audacious smirk, wrapping an arm around their shoulder, and letting them slide lower and lower until they get all tingly and bashful and putty. The singles vary—sometimes they’re awkward, sometimes they’re particularly desperate, and sometimes they’re just like him.

Kenma is the awkward kind that gets unravel by alcohol.

Kuroo meets him in the TGIF parties that the second floor host every end of the month—or when occasion calls for it. Wild younglings drunk on independence and freedom from hell week and horrendous professors who serve failing grades like hotcakes. Nobody could say no to such liberty and relief.

It was an accidental discovery, he almost did not know he existed in a rowdy party where people like to get drunk and fuck. The mousy little thing has plastered himself against the wall, hands fiddling with a red cup, eyes casted down. He walks towards him with the air of confidence only specimen like him possess—all big bad wolves and mothers warning their children not to befriend or whatever bullshit the movie industry like to portray people like him. Kenma does not look up even when he greets him or when he occupies the small space the younger is burrowing into. He makes it a point not to be ignored though, a hand clasping down anxiety-laden hands, softening a smile so he won’t scare away the stiff boy.

“Are you okay?” It starts innocuous enough. He pretends to care. People love it when other does. So he hunches down and he offers his bottle. Kenma takes it with rightful suspicions but he downs it in one sip like he has been denied liquid for far too long, like he has to or risk exploding with whatever thoughts running through his mind. He loosens up soon enough. The magic of alcohol never failing Kuroo once.

He offers another and another, Kenma downing them with speed, his small voice pervading his senses with gratitude, Kuroo has to wonder if he even heard it or imagined it because Bokuto is too loud with his off-key singing and Oikawa is moaning just a meter away, a drunk Iwaizumi sucking his neck with much fervor. He has to focus a little bit more to witness Kenma’s descend to madness, he was sure that he is not the one who offered him _that_ drink, hands long empty of cups and bottles to dangle and deceive as sympathy.

Kenma is a blabbering mess, more talkative with alcohol-loosed lips, full of big words Kuroo is sure only Akaashi could define. He is flushed all over, pink hue dancing across satin cheeks and tailing down dainty neck, disappearing under similar nerdy t-shirt that Oikawa denies owning. He is undeniably pale and short and pretty. All of which falls under his type. Kuroo loves pale skin and shorter men and pretty boys with personality gaps under intoxication.

Kuroo makes his move, “Let’s get out of here. It’s getting too rowdy.”

Kenma, unarmed with his suspicions, ignores the warning bells ringing in his head. He presses a hand against his temple to make them stop before he smiles trustingly at Kuroo. The nice man has kept him company when Hinata should have. He follows him obediently, arm tingling at the hand clasping his elbow. Kuroo makes him comfortable in the confine of his room, offering him another bottle because why not? He’s drunk anyway, what is one more to tomorrow’s regrets?

They drink the wine Bokuto has hidden in his stash because he doesn’t trust Kuroo enough not to steal the good wine he is preparing for when Akaashi actually agrees in dating him. _Oops_ , Kuroo thinks without remorse, chuckling against Kenma’s soft lips. He doesn’t know when they had gotten to the point of skinship but Kuroo is on top of a moaning Kenma and they are grinding their hips together and _oh, that felt too good_. Kenma bends to his touches and it was all too hot and too messy and _deeper, deeper, deeper!_

Kenma is all marked and exhausted and sticky that he groans into the chest he wakes up on. The morning is unkind and he wishes there’s a time machine because a stranger’s shitty grin is not the kind of scenery he wants to wake up to after attending a shitty party his friend drag him to. He pushes away and stumbles to his feet, unabashed of his nakedness but horrified at the landscape of hickeys littering his usually hickey-less skins.

“I thought you’ll be a virgin.” Kenma throws a glare to the languid voice, trying to work his limbs into basic motions because how do people wear pants again? His head hurts, his ass hurts, and he is sure he had probably performed fellatio on the guy because his breath smells like unwashed crotches, he spits in disgust which earns him a startled exclamation.

“You’re not a morning person, are you?” Kenma is not. Kuroo could sympathize, mornings are so bothersome. Especially after one-night stands. He doesn’t usually entertain his scampering prey but the kid is just too adorable to let go. After a while when Kenma finally rediscovers how to function his limbs, he answers the raven dryly, “I’d been to high school too, you know. And only my friend would appreciate the sun shining again.”

Kuroo laughs because Kenma is not as anxious as he was last night, his sharp tongue so cynical that he should ask if he was related somewhat with his salty ex. They make small chatters to fill the room and it is so natural even if they’re all snide remarks and complaints and advise to wash his cock because it left certain smells and Kenma absolutely hates unwashed cocks. Kuroo could have sworn that he had known the freshman all his life, that’s how comfortable he felt with him.

When the younger left about ten minutes after figuring how t-shirts work, Kuroo realizes that he does not have a name to the pretty face. He groans for a moment before being harassed by an angry Bokuto, the empty Karuizawa Koi that his father gifted him in his hand, waving it furiously at his face and Kuroo could only groan louder because it’s too damn early for bursting energy, Kuroo dramatically wishes that the sun never shone again.

* * *

Kenma buries the event after drawing apologies from his equally disheveled friend. He doesn’t tell anyone who had taken him last night because it isn’t their business to pry. Kenma could disappear for a week and they could not ask him the details without playing an exhausting mind game with him. Lev was the only fool to actually barrel on to the battlefield with a toy gun as Kenma slices him down.

Kenma focuses on more important matters like the homework his Psychology professor assigned them. If it was not a general subject, he would not even take it. So, he balances his stupid psychology research with his business major research. Apparently, university is all about researches and the disillusion of dreams. He has enough of Hinata complaining about changing course because _Kenma, there are too much numbers in accountancy_. _What do you expect in accountancy, Shoyo?_ in his most condescending voice is not enough to silence his childhood friend anymore.

He finds himself in the farthest corner of the dorm’s study lounge, nose buried in a business major recommended book. He doesn’t expect to see any soul around. It’s three in the morning and his earlier companions had given up; Hinata has been dragged away by Kageyama and Lev only cried here for thirty minutes at seeing the material he has to cram for, Akaashi, his older roommate, fast asleep a table from his.

The footsteps storming outside the hallway thunders through and opens the door loudly, he winces in irritation as two boisterous voices wakes the sleepy hall. He turns to give them a warning glance but he is surprised to see shitty grin and bedhead hair and sharp wily eyes. The sight of the sophomore reminds him of _that night_ and his guilty moments where he fingers himself at the memory of the greatest lay he had experienced.

Kuroo sidles to his side with his pretentious airs, “Long time no see, mystery boy.”

Kenma rolls his eyes, pushes his reading glass, and blows a snort through his nose. He carefully bookmarks the page and highlights his note with the blazing orange Hinata insisted for him to use before facing the insistent complaints of his one-night stand, ignoring the white-haired man who hovers by Akaashi with a hopelessly and disgustingly lovestruck expression. _That must be the stalker he talks about sometimes,_ he thinks to himself.

“I think the high standard of Todai keeps competency alive.” Kenma replies with his curt clipping tone, Kuroo coos at him like he is just the cutest thing to exist. He watches Kuroo taps the table with his long fingers, mind whirling with thoughts, responding appropriately and then pressing his lips back ferociously against Kuroo’s.

“It tasted like mint this time.” Kuroo says when he backs away and Kenma shoots him a glare because it’s not fair, he was breathing alcohol back then so his breath must have been beer-stained. Kuroo makes that cooing sounds once more and it annoys Kenma so he launches an attack, kisses deeper and hotter and _oh kami-sama, is he making a mistake?_

He makes the mistake and reasons it on his stress as he pants against the bathroom stall in their study lounge. He probably needs to come back and make sure Akaashi hasn’t been kidnapped by that white-haired man but his mind is just too hazy to think about anything else but the hot member entering him raw. Kuroo whispers his name to him and amusingly, he whispers his back like it was a secret and only they could hear their confession.

When they were done, Kenma trudges back to his room, Kuroo’s number written on his hips because Kuroo is a bastard like that. He forgets Akaashi entirely and is thankful when the older reappears in their shared room with all his limbs intact.

“I’m sorry for forgetting you.” He apologizes with his small voice and he wonders if Akaashi is angry, wonders how he would be able to compensate, wonders if he has to change roommates. But Akaashi merely shrugs, a thin line playing on his lips but for a different reason Kenma does not ask about. Akaashi does not ask him about the hickey on his neck in return.

* * *

The third time he found himself pressed against Kuroo, all hot and panting, hips buckling as the ecstasy of the cowgirl position has him shivering and painfully erect, was not because he called Kuroo but because Kuroo discovered where his room is and has chosen to invade his privacy. He doesn’t know how exactly Kuroo could coax him to have sex but he is not complaining.

The evidence of Kuroo’s presence has been the biggest elephant in the room long after the man disappeared. Yaku has looked at him with a horrified expression while Akaashi has sighed like he is trying to blow all his woes away.

“It’s him.” He simply confesses because it’s not like he is going to keep it a secret. Yaku recoils at his answer, grabbing his shoulder, “Do you know him, Kenma?”

“He’s Kuroo?” He knows he is majoring in biochemistry, that he hates waking up early but he has to because he jogs, that he simply has to collect all the Disney movies, that his hair is not a result of gel but is actually the result of sleeping weirdly, and all the little things that Kuroo has to say before he pulls him for a kiss.

“He’s Kuroo Tetsurou!” Yaku freaks out, “He’s that guy I told you about that sleeps around with anyone with a hole. He’s the reason why Atsumu broke up with his girlfriend. He’s not good for you, Kenma.”

 _Oh_. Kenma couldn’t say anything. What was he supposed to say? Maybe along the lines of ‘ _you should have told me that before I fucked the guy three times’_. Kenma doesn’t hear anything anymore because he likes to fuck around too but he was probably hoping to get a steady lover in his university days. Kuroo has been a good prospect but it turns out he’s nothing but a blasphemous man, so sinfully good with his hands and body.

Kenma bits his lip to stop his wandering mind, pulling it from the gutter where Kuroo’s sinful sweet-talkings exist. He’s so fucked.

He knows of this because he opens his door again to Kuroo when Yaku and Akaashi are out. He pulls him to his room and pushes him down his bed, mouthing on his clothed crotch like it is his last day on earth and he just simply has to spend it being thrusted into.

Kuroo plays with him after he cums in his mouth, three fingers deep in him, and Kenma is pouring moans on his sheet. He wriggles in impatience, “Just hurry up.”

“You grow demanding each time, Kenma.” Kuroo teases, crooking a finger and hitting his sweet spot just right. He whimpers even as he glares, “You’re growing slow each time, Kuroo. Make use of yourself, won’t you?”

Kuroo enters him without warning, bucking his hips sharply in a rough pace, and drawing long groans from the demanding freshman. Kenma is consumed with the fire in his belly, the flames making his toes curl and his hands grip his soiled sheets, his mouth panting demands that had Kuroo snarling against his skin, biting and suckling.

Kuroo does not leave after they finish. Instead, he lounges in his birthday suit on his bed as Kenma puts on a boxer and a hoodie. He talks chirpily about his day and Kenma almost smiles at his attitude. He gives him a remark that has Kuroo reeling and complaining about his personality evaluation of him, Kenma thinks that his psychology paper has been put to good use somehow.

Their routine starts just like that. They would visit each other’s room with the intention to fuck because university is too stressful to simply not do so. Kenma sleeps in Kuroo’s hoodie and Kuroo snuggles with him during times when Kenma simply came for the quiet, sitting comfortably on Kuroo’s lap and ignoring his existence when he begins his play. There are times when Kuroo takes his PSP away so they could kiss—Kuroo does not like being ignored sometimes, Kenma learns.

Their trysts were never a secret and Kenma never take them too seriously. They were not exclusive because Kuroo is a classic fuckboy with a fear of commitment. He would go around causing havoc to relationships and he is still a notch on the bedposts of the strangers he never finds the desire to talk to after. Kenma does not want more than what Kuroo can give. And Kuroo does not offer what Kenma probably dreams of. They understand that.

That’s how their relationship functions. That’s what they are. That’s what they’ll ever be.

Kenma is aware of this. He spent his nights thinking and thinking before shutting off. He is not someone that could make people stay. His ex has explicitly said that. The notion of ever finding love with his kind of personality? The possibility is zero.

So Kuroo went his merry ways and ruins people—spitting on puppy romance that would never last and destroying flowering relationships wherever he ventures. He holds the closest person on any available surface and imprints his messed-up ideals of love on their bodies, leaving them guilty and pleading, and he finds it unappealing because it feels different.

The kind of different that makes him feel disgusted for the first time in his life. He holds pale skin and shorter men and pretty boys but all he could see was the silhouettes of Kenma arching to his touches, Kenma’s soft wantons, Kenma’s pale skin and delicate neck and beautiful eyes and snide remarks and—

He buys an apple pie after he left his partner for the night, not even bothering in finishing. He texts Kenma with an invitation, the food a bribe. And they did not go down for each other because they are not cats in heat, they can actually be in the same room without tumbling on the sheets.

They talk about senseless things. Well, Kuroo talks and watches Kenma eat his apple pie. It’s a weird friendship but Kuroo hasn’t felt comfortable in a long while, not even when he was still with Tsukishima and he swears, he _loved_ that salty guy.

* * *

Bokuto notices his strange behavior because he asks him one night. It’s been about a month since he had last seen Kuroo with someone else.

“Are you two dating?” Bokuto asks without preamble and he doesn’t need to elaborate for Kuroo to grasp his intention. His friend merely shrugs, “Nah. We’re just fucking around.”

“Does he know that you are only fucking around?” Because Bokuto has seen how Kenma stares at Kuroo when he thinks nobody is looking.

“With my reputation?” There’s a sad little twinkle in Kuroo’s eyes, his smirk not as infuriating. Bokuto offers him a bottle to drink but is refused. Kenma will be coming soon, Kuroo explains, and he hates the smell of beer when he is studying.

Kuroo probably did not notice (or he chose not to) but Kenma is around a lot these days. The first time Bokuto stumbles upon their odd predicament, Kuroo was cradling the freshman on his lap, a contented smile on his lips as they relax in the quiet of the room. Kuroo has been all smiles and humming and accommodating. He almost wonders if Kuroo was replaced but he had known Kuroo since elementary and he knew the Kuroo before he became all big bad wolves and warning signs. So he thinks, Kenma must be good for Kuroo.

So, he does not comment about the apple pies in the fridge and the cat-shaped mug Kuroo bought for Kenma that sit on their cupboard. Nor does he mention about the fully-stocked fridge. Kuroo apparently began cooking for Kenma because Kenma can’t cook for shit and he will die of malnutrition one of these days. Although, sometimes, they would eat take outs too because Kuroo can’t cook on Tuesday—his subjects on that day exhaust him too much, Kenma would buy them the food and insist for Kuroo to just lie down after. He does not need any cradling from exhausted sophomores. Kenma does not take his hand back when the tired man would intertwine their hands and kisses them so naturally that Kenma sometimes wonder if--but he does not let himself dwell for too long and Kuroo pretends he doesn't love the way the spaces in his hand endearingly fit Kenma's.

On days when Kenma is not by Kuroo’s side, Kuroo talks a lot about Kenma. He’s all moony and sighing and excited. Bokuto has never seen his friend more alive.

“So Kenma tried to go to the mall and went back because there are too many people. I have to go pick him up because he is feeling nauseous about it.” Kuroo retells, a hand cupping a cheek, a soft smile on his lips.

“He gets anxiety in crowds?” He asks, folding the information somewhere in his mind because he needs to memorize them lest Kuroo gets furious for accidentally causing anxiety to the poor boy. Kuroo nods, “He’s not really comfortable with strangers.”

Kuroo continues and Bokuto admits he is only half-listening because some of them had been repeated far too many times on the course of three months Kenma and Kuroo began their strange relationship. Oikawa has teased him about it. Kai has given an input or two. Iwaizumi has snorted at him.

Kuroo merely shrugs, “This will not amount to anything.”

Because Kuroo does not ask for anything more. Because Kenma is careful with the stares he gives Kuroo. Because the two couldn’t risk losing whatever they have right now.

* * *

It turns out the white-haired man was not Akaashi’s stalker but just a hung-up ex. He did not mean to eavesdrop on the two but Bokuto has been loud with his begging and it’s the first time he hears Akaashi shouts. He presses himself on the wall, wondering if he should just get out of the bathroom.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi is mad, he could hear it in the gritting tone. He hears a rustle of clothes before the sound of hand slapping the wall echoes. Bokuto cries, “I want to be with you.”

“You broke up with me! Without any explanation!” Akaashi prods and Bokuto reels, “I’m sorry about that. Please, just hear me out.”

“And you kissed someone else just a day after you broke up with me.” If there has been salt pressed to any wounds, this would be it. Akaashi’s voice quivers, “I spent my whole high school in love with you. And you just broke up with me suddenly! I spent months trying to get over you.”

Bokuto apologizes and apologizes. There’s a quietness for a minute and Kenma thinks it could be the right time to sneak his way back to his room until he hears Bokuto kissing Akaashi and Akaashi kissing back. Kenma presses himself more tightly against the wall because he does not want to be there at all.

Later, when he is safely tuck between Kuroo and his bed, he tells the man about being a witness to Bokuto and Akaashi having sex on the couch when he finally gathered his courage to get out the bathroom.

“I need to buy a new couch.” Kenma says sleepily. Kuroo laughs, “I’ll help you pick.”

“I also need to talk to Akaashi about a new policy. Absolutely no having sex on the couch. Even with their ex.” Kenma mutters, eyes closing before a thought occur to him, “Hey, Kuroo, you have an ex right?”

Yes, because Kuroo could commit once upon a time ago to pale skin and tall guys and handsome boys with a gap in their attitude under the illusion of love.

“I do.” A year of relationship before it ended because he was not anybody’s first choice. Tsukishima probably loved him back, Kuroo thinks, but not as much. He couldn’t hold a candle against childhood memories and freckles and soft voice calling out _Tsukki_.

“Did you love him? Enough to go back to him when he asks?” Kenma wonders, an ache creeping in his chest. Akaashi did it even after being hurt. He does not know if Kuroo would. There are just some ex-lover you could not ever forget. Kuroo shakes his head, “He would never.”

“You avoided the question.” Kenma pinpoints, sleep escaping him. There is a languid sort of silence before Kuroo speaks, “I… don’t love him anymore, Kenma.”

“But if he asked?”

“Trust me, he would never.” Wherever he is right now, he is probably with his Yamaguchi. It doesn’t hurt as much as before to think about him. They are just prickles nowadays caused by the reminder of Tsukishima’s blunt honesty and the way he worded them. That boy was never good with euphemism but he could have dropped him more kindly, Kuroo supposed.

What is even love when he could be left behind just like that?

“I also have an ex, you know.” Kenma says after looking away from the sadness that clings within hazel eyes, “He said I’m not going to get any boyfriend because of my personality.”

“Well, he is an asshole then because you are just lovely.” Kuroo pulls him into a gentle kiss, pressing his lips on his forehead and his cheeks when they pull back, and it makes Kenma feels special somehow. It was nice.

* * *

“You’re in love with Kuroo.” Akaashi observes one afternoon when they were returning from the library, Hinata rushing to the registrar to finally change his course. Kenma tenses, words caught in his throat, not knowing what to say to defend his case.

“Yes.” He breathes a second later, putting his books on the new couch Kuroo and him bought for a cheap price, “What of it?”

“Nothing.” Akaashi raises a brow, “I just think you could do better.”

Kenma feels angry. People keep telling him that Kuroo is bad, that he will just abandon him when he is all used up, that his relationship or whatever he has with him is a disaster waiting to happen. But Kuroo has always been so kind to him, so accommodating and fun, so terribly precious in his black t-shirts and sleepy moments.

“I couldn’t do better, Akaashi.” He says with a glare, “I’m Kenma.”

He doesn’t say that Kuroo could do better because he’s _only_ Kenma.

He says this to Kuroo when they are eating together in his room, the plate on his lap and Kuroo is fishing for tissue to wipe away the remnants of the sauce from his stained cheeks.

“Do better? Me?” Kuroo points to himself, “I’m rock bottom.”

“People still like you though.”

Kuroo busies himself with cleaning up, humming to himself. There is a large gap in their conversation and Kenma doesn’t press, waiting for whatever reply Kuroo could come up to avoid conversation he does not want to talk about.

“Do _you_ like me?”

Ah, Kenma thinks, deflecting. Kuroo has always been good with that. But Kenma could be so honest and stubborn that he does not reel from the familiarity of mind games Kuroo plays sometimes, “Yes. I think so. I like this. I like us.”

Kenma rubs the back of his neck, it sounds embarrassing once they were out. Kuroo blinks, stumped. Kenma groans, “Answer me.”

“I just…” Kuroo is all embarrassed, red in the face, and awkward, Kenma wants to pull him for a kiss. “I didn’t think you would. I’m me. And you’re you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t mean anything bad by it. I just mean why would you like me? I’m sure you already know what people around here called me so fondly.” Kuroo gesticulated in his confusion. Kenma sighs, balling to himself, “You could just say you don’t like me back.”

“No!” Kuroo scrambles to his feet, throwing himself on the bed and capturing Kenma in his arms, “I like you. I think I do. I haven’t sleep around, you know. I like your presence and it makes me comfortable. It’s just that… why me?”

“Why not you?” Kenma asks bluntly. He knows Kuroo hasn’t been sleeping around lately, Bokuto lets it slip months ago. He entertained the idea that it might be because of him. And he liked it. He likes the idea so much that it fuels his feelings for this quivering awkward fool.

“Look, Kuroo.” Kenma pulls Kuroo into a hug, “I’m not good with words. I like you, that’s it. If you like me too, say it. I don’t like wasting my breath, you know that.”

There’s a bubble of laughter from Kuroo, shaking in amusement. Kenma presses their temple together and Kuroo could see the stare Kenma kept from him—softer gazes with such an honest affection, he could almost cry from it.

“You would not regret me?” Because that’s what he is, a regret in someone’s adventure. Kenma shakes his head, “I don’t know. But you hadn’t been giving me reasons to do so yet. And I hope it continues that way.”

Kuroo is doing that expression he does when he sees a sad scene in a Disney movie, eyes quivering but stubbornly refusing to let himself cry.

“You’re a romantic, aren’t you?”

Once upon a time ago, back before his mother chose someone else, back before Tsukishima confesses about a childhood friend he can’t forget, back before people kept on making him a notch on their bedposts when he was only there searching his own romance, he is.

“Just a little bit.” Kuroo kisses Kenma. It was fireworks and magic—and all the shits the movie industry likes to sell to hopeless romantics of the world. So Kuroo kisses Kenma again and again—a repetitive sweetness he’ll never get tired of.

Later, when Bokuto comes home and he finds out that Kuroo stole his wine again, he couldn’t get even mad because it’s been years since Kuroo looks so happy, Kenma on his lap as they watch The Little Mermaid, their snide remarks towards the movie overlapping with the songs.

For all the comments about his failure to read the mood, this is one of the rare moments he does.

Bokuto closes the door and hums to himself, wondering if Akaashi would be okay if he sleeps in his room for the night.

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> Welps. I gotta write what I gotta write. Review?


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